Reflexivity
by Renn
Summary: There's cause and effect, action and reaction, Ray Palmer and growing soft. Mick feels cheated out of a life of crime that should've rightfully been his. Worse, he's eventually okay with that. Ray just follows his heart. One story, two points of view. Season 2 spoilers, eventual Mick Rory/Ray Palmer (aka Atomwave)
1. Mick

**Reflexivity**

I only recently discovered the show, and it has spurred me out of a long hiatus-I love these two so much...  
I've read some pretty good stories on them, but I hope I managed to do them justice my way. :)

Also posted on AO3, my username there is 'Hien'.

* * *

Mick Rory knew he was going to regret this before he even knew what 'this' was.

Or was _supposed_ to be.

Or _would_ be.

(Whatever. He won't ever waste time trying to understand time travel.)

Anyway. Yet again, it was Snart's fault. Period. The bastard had always been good at pitching a hard sell, and they'd known each other long enough that he knew exactly what to say to get him on board.

They _had_ also known each other long enough that Mick knew there was a reason why he hated said bastard at times, but then again, Leonard usually delivered—more often than not, at least, and that was more than Mick could admit to when striking out on his own.

Still, while double-crossing each other from time to time had never been unheard of – or reason to hold a grudge – Mick had never expected his partner to grow a conscience and goddamn die saving the goddamn universe (or something).

As if it wasn't enough, he left Mick to grow a conscience of his own, and that was _not_ cool. (Pun intended. Ha! Who ever said he had no sense of humor?)

And as if _that_ wasn't enough, he left him with a team of mostly boy scouts. (He excluded Sara, because she was badass, enough so that at times he looked at her and figured 'that might be what having a little sister is like', because after all, Lisa was badass too and Snart never tired of pointing it out.)

But the others…from the retired troop leader who thinks he's still 'in' (Stein, who looks at him like he perpetually expects him to set them on fire – which , he'd admit, isn't so far-fetched) to the tantrum-throwing kid (Jax, although the kid's not all that bad), through the stick-in-the-mud who thinks he's in charge (Hunter, and _he's_ all that bad) and culminating in the man who likely _popularized_ the 'boy scout' expressions (introducing one Raymond Palmer), Mick really believes he's being punished more than he deserves and his partner's laughing his ass off from the afterlife.

And yet he can't bring himself to walk out. Figures.

Then again, they let him burn things and people on a _very_ regular basis _without_ the risk of being arrested for it, plus they have an AI from the future that can heal mostly anything _and_ produce an endless quantity of alcohol. Mick Rory is a man of simple pleasures, why deny himself?

Plus, he doesn't really hate the others. Not really. Except for Hunter. Hunter sucks. Hunter acts holier-than-thou, all, "No, Miss Lance, we can't alter the time-line to suit our own needs," when he put their little crew together to do just that when it suited _his_ needs. But whatever. Mick didn't survive this long by dwelling on the past.

He likes that they're still scared of him but not so much – that whatever they're scared of stems from what they've witnessed him _do_ and not what they might've _heard_ about him. In the confines of his mind, he'll even admit he likes that sometimes they're _not_ scared, although that is _not_ okay. (Again, Sara's fine because sometimes she manages to scare _him_ , and he'd even find it hot, if he hadn't thought about the 'little sister' comment first—he was creepy, but not _that_ creepy.)

But sometimes Jax would pull whatever Mick's fiddling with out of his hands if he thought it could hurt his precious ship, and this without any fear that it might be the last things _his_ hands would do. Plus it was funny watching him get offended on the ship's behalf. ("It's okay, Gideon—Rory didn't mean to call you a trashcan." "Yes I did." "No he didn't." Sara would usually snort at them to get a room or behave at this point, and the indignation at the implications customarily shut them up right away.)

Stein was a pedantic self-important old goat, but he was good comic relief. In a sense. He often got so lost in his head and his drive to understand every speck of dust that surrounded them that he'd regularly loop him in, asking him about his time as Chronos, curiosity impairing the part of his brain that should've controlled fear. And even after Mick would dole out the customary reminder to mind his own business in the form of a threat, the professor would just take a step back, go, "Ah," and change the subject – usually pretending he was looking for Jax and wandering off. Mick respected people who understood self-preservation and displayed recurring traces of it.

Which lead to the final boy scout, Ray. Haircut. The most idiotic genius he'd ever met. Granted, he hasn't met many geniuses, but he did have some experience with idiots – there was no doubt that Ray was one, PhDs notwithstanding. Sara was trying to fill her life with a purpose of her own, Jax and Stein have to Firestorm up regularly anyway so might as well use those powers, Hunter's definitely hanging on to the vestiges of a sanity intrinsically linked to his time-ship, but Ray…Ray wants to be a freaking _hero_ —believes in it so much Mick can't (always) bring himself to make fun of him for it.

Ray would rather be dead and remembered as a hero than alive with no one knowing his name.

Mick calls that stupidity.

Ray thinks that his worth is linked to what he's invented, that all he brings to the table is a super-suit.

Mick calls that infinite stupidity.

Ray thinks that the universe and their team would've been better served by him dying instead of Snart.

Mick can't even accurately express how stupid that is.

But at least, the idiot didn't blame himself for Snart's death – he at least understood that other people's decisions were not _his fault_. (Hurray—now call the Pope to make it an official holiday.)

Mick can't really understand why he notices these things about him. It's not like it's any skin off his back, after all. Ray cares about what everyone thinks of him, Mick just doesn't get why he cares what _he_ thinks about him too.

"You don't owe me anything, Haircut," he'd told him so many times he'd lost count – and was half-tempted to ask Gideon to record it so it could automatically be played anytime Ray opened his mouth in his presence.

"Well…it's true but…you did save my life," Ray would reply every time – or a variation of it, but the beam that accompanied the words always stayed the same. Sure, he's an idiot, but a loyal one – yet again, one has to question his sanity, when he insists on being loyal to the likes of Mick Rory.

"You read too much into things," Mick grunted as he reached for another beer, rolling his eyes when Ray just wordlessly hands one over – but with that huge smile. "I just wanted to be the one to flip the Time Pigs the finger," he drawled as he took a swig and looked at the label like it's a love-letter.

"Tomato, tom _a_ to," the Atom declared, honest-to-god almost chuckling at his own words. "You don't like to be complimented, do you?" he then asked curiously.

Mick sighed and looked at him, channeling the message that 'you're an idiot' as hard as he could. "You think people ever lined up for it much in my life?"

"They should've," Ray replied matter-of-factly with a shrug, completely unaffected by his look—completely oblivious to how badly Mick's hand wanted to reach for the heat-gun when that happened.

"I'll never understand how you made it to adulthood," Mick dismissed him finally, because truly, he didn't.

He didn't understand what kind of childhood trauma caused a grown man to retain the ability to see the _good_ wherever he looked and _smile_ like he meant it.

Truly, it wasn't until sometime later that Mick understood that underneath it all, at times it was really a matter of _having to_. _Having to_ see the good in _others_ , to stop focusing on what he felt _he_ was lacking. _Having to_ smile because if he did it enough, then he could _believe_ it—and let's face it: his smiles did have the power to cause others not to dwell on him, because they'd figure 'he's smiling, so he must be alright'.

Mick never thinks anyone is 'alright'.

If they were 'alright', they wouldn't be living their lives.

But then the ATOM suit exploded, Ray stopped smiling, and Mick thinks that's not alright, either. For the record, him thinking that is _not_ alright, but drinking more beer doesn't make it go away, and Haircut looks like he might jump out the _Waverider_ so he won't occupy space anymore. It would take too many words and be too much of a hassle to point out that someone who just invented a cure for _zombies_ isn't a waste of space, but it's easier – and quicker – to sigh and hand him the cold gun.

Surprisingly, it's all it took for the smile to be back.

"Just don't even think about hugging me, or you'll see firsthand what happens when I fire my heat gun at it," he grunted back, returning to his beer.

Of course, Ray never took it like the threat it was meant to be. "Why? What happens when the guns collide?" he asked excitedly, the science nerd just happy to have found a new experiment.

"I don't get paid enough for this," Mick muttered as he opened another beer – even though his current bottle wasn't finished yet.

"We get paid?" Ray asked back with a confused frown.

"My point exactly."

So that's how Mick Rory got himself another partner. Another brain to his brawns—well, in theory only, because Palmer was by no means a criminal mastermind; criminal masterminds were able to figure out who finished the last of the hidden candy stock, or even simply where said hidden stock was stashed.

Plus he had to train him before letting him out in public with the cold gun—reputation and all, right? A guy who was used to computer-assisted firing had to work on his aim.

"No shame in calling it quits," Mick huffed after Gideon provided them with more beer – and this time he was holding a pack to his chest protectively.

Ray looked at him, truly puzzled, the tilt of his head saying, 'yes there is', and he has the gall to add, "I won't let you down," and look like he truly means it, the idiot.

"Instead of caring what a criminal—"

" _Reformed_ ," Ray interjected, because no one could say bad things about his friends, even themselves.

"—thinks about you, spend more time worrying about not letting _yourself_ down, Haircut," Mick continued unimpressed—although he _really_ wasn't paid enough to play shrink on top of it.

Ray frowned attentively, the same expression he takes on when he's working on solving an unsolvable problem, and when he looked up at him he was surprisingly confident. "What does it say about my life that you're the least complicated person I've got around me right now?"

"It says we're gonna need more beer," Mick replied without missing a beat. More beer was never a bad idea anyway. More beer kept him from reading too deep into things that either weren't there or shouldn't have ever been.

Ray freaking Palmer just smiled back, as if that answer was exactly what he'd been expecting and even _hoping_ for.

On their next mission, he was all smiles and excitement and restlessness and it was all Mick could do to keep himself from burning the White House down. He had to keep an eye on him, like one would a child at the beach. He was pretty certain that if there was such a thing as a criminal résumé, Ray would mention on it that he'd stolen a handful of Presidential Jelly Beans.

Heck, Mick wouldn't be surprised if the idiot actually _were_ working on his criminal résumé, because he'd already so often proved that for all his genius he sorely lacked common sense.

And it must've been rubbing off on him, because otherwise he really can't explain how he allowed himself to say, "You're Ray Palmer, you can science your way out of anything."

And actually _mean_ it.

"I'm sorry," Ray said dejectedly as they were leaving the building, eyes fixed on the dismantled cold gun.

"Sorry means we're alive," Mick dismissed matter-of-factly. "You hug me, I'll roast you," he added with a hand on his holster as he saw the other move—and it was satisfying how he froze at that. Walking on ahead, he heard a soft 'thank you', but pretended he didn't.

Just like he pretended not to notice him lock himself up in the lab – to rebuild the cold gun, he knew. Now Mick never had the pretention of thinking he's smarter than him when it comes to building stuff, but he does know his guns well, so after a few beers, a good nap, and some doughnut-breakfast, he made his way there.

He found the scientist fast asleep, head pillowed on his arms, blissfully drooling as he dreamt—probably about prime numbers having a party with differential equations and going to buy puppies and save the world or some shit. The cold gun, reassembled, was next to him. Wordlessly, Mick picked it up and studied it—no 'improvements' that he could find, same old. Without even hesitating, he aimed it at what he figured was a scrap of metal further away on the table and pulled the trigger – though if it turned out to be _something_ , not like he'd care either way.

It worked as it should, and Ray snapped awake at the sound, yelping a, "Whu—what? I wasn't sleeping!" as he looked around bewildered before his eyes stopped on Mick. And then he _smiled_. "I fixed it," he supplied needlessly.

"I noticed," Mick grunted back, resisting the urge to roll his eyes—but not the urge to look at him like the idiot he was. "Food. Rest. Now," he said succinctly as he all but threw the cold gun back at him, half disappointed when he just caught it without fumbling too much.

"Mick," Ray called him back, undeterred when he stopped but didn't turn around. "Does this mean we're still partners?"

And damn it, but did he really have to sound so hopeful and like his dreams rested on that answer?

No one had ever cared that much about what he thought.

Heck, no one probably ever _should_. _Ever_. No one in their right mind, anyhow.

Feeling merciful, he gave an affirmative grunt—and was mildly impressed that the other recognized it as such, and not as an 'I'm going to maim you alive' kind of grunt. And damn it, the _smile_ was back. "You hug me, I'll break your arms," he said instead of addressing the real issue, because some things needed to be spelled out, if the way Ray's arms quickly moved behind his back was any indication.

Still, getting their hands on that dwarf-star alloy was Christmas come early for everyone – a collective sigh of relief was heaved at not having to worry about their resident overgrown puppy so much anymore.

"I think I can use the dwarf-star to make the heat gun more powerful for short blasts," Ray declared without preamble as he walked into his quarters barely half an hour after they left the West.

"Don't you have a suit to build?" Mick grunted back, more than mildly annoyed that the boy scout clearly wasn't afraid enough since he seemed to think it was okay to just barge in uninvited. He was also the tiniest bit proud of him for _not_ being afraid, but he'd deny it until the day he died.

Ray's eyes widened for a second before he did that thing where he nodded, toyed with his hands and tried to appear casual.

Spoiler alert: Ray sucked at the whole 'trying to appear casual' stint.

"I'm going to regret asking, aren't I?"

"It's just a way of thanking you—that I figure you won't totally hate," the scientist admitted with a helpless shrug. "It's…the only thing I could think of that you wouldn't totally hate, actually. Well I mean I did think about replicating some more booze, or getting those doughnuts you seem to love, but it would be _Gideon_ doing the actual work, not me, so how is that a fitting 'thank you'? And then I figured—"

Mick just had to stop the rambling. Rambling causes headaches. "Okay."

"O…kay?" Ray repeated with a slow blink.

"I don't totally hate the idea," was the succinct reply as he stood and put on his best menacing airs. "But I'll be looking over your shoulder the whole time, and if you so much as nick a wire—"

"You'll do something very painful and possibly permanent to me?" Ray supplied helpfully, bright smile right back as though it was something _nice_ to be told.

"You have a serious problem, Haircut," Mick felt obliged to inform him as he pushed past him to go towards Ray's cabin – but not without a quick stop by the kitchen to get some snacks.

It was some mighty good thinking on his part, because apparently Ray was smart enough to work on his gun _and_ talk his ear off at the same time, although Mick did get the feeling that he wasn't working as quickly as he could. Never matter, the upgrade was soon completed, and once they tested it, he had to admit he really didn't hate the idea—at all.

Ray was all but balancing on the back of his heels as he waited for his verdict, and Mick yet again wondered how he was still alive. "I've had worse," he answered the unspoked question gruffly.

Ray beamed, looking visibly relieved, and then his gaze shifted and he did that 'thing' with his mouth again, and Mick knew he would yet again regret asking. "What now?"

"Are we…still partners?" Ray asked as his eyes flitted back to him before settling on the heat gun. "I mean…if all goes well, I'll soon be done rebuilding my suit, and I realize that the whole 'partners' deal was mostly linked to the cold gun, because it's not like you'd let just anyone use it, but I think we work well together, and—"

God, the _rambling_ …

Mick had to ask, "Why is it so important to you to get someone else's validation? Is that the only way you can feel good about yourself?"

A meathead he may be, but he did have some observational skills – something useful in his former line of work, if you didn't want to die young.

Ray's mouth snapped shut and he frowned as he looked at him, visibly caught off guard. But at least he'd stopped toying with his hands and his feet stood firmly planted on the ground. "Not 'someone else's'," he corrected. "Yours."

"Sounds even worse," Mick said with no bite, absolutely certain of that.

"You're always honest – bluntly, _painfully_ so, but you're someone I know I can take at face value," Ray argued, crossing his arms over his chest but holding his look.

This is probably the moment Mick Rory realizes he hates Ray Palmer, because the man makes him be _nice_ to him.

"Look, a gun is just that—a gun. A tool. Partnerships aren't really based on tools, are they?"

Ray's eyes lit up—heck, his entire face lit up with that stupid grin and his fingers twitched on his arms. "I hug you, you'll hurt me?" he asked, fully knowing the answer.

"Damn right," Mick replied anyway as he stormed off towards the kitchen – this really called for more beer.

So maybe he took to having his snacks and beers in the lab, perched atop some crates from which he could watch the idiot bring his suit back to life, but in his defense, sometimes there were explosions or even _fires_ , and it was too much fun to watch the other fumble his way through curse words. Plus there was that priceless moment when one glove's AI got frisky and the hand started going after Ray – the scientist kept trying to fix it even as gloved fingers continued to try and kill him, so Mick took it as his cue and grabbed a screwdriver to literally nail the glove to the table. Ray's wide-eyed semi-reproachful look had been completely worth it – but not as much as his yelp when he realized the fingers were still out to get him.

And okay, 'the suit doesn't make the man', and 'the man inside is what matters' and all that jazz, but no one can deny that seeing Ray back in the ATOM suit is a sight for sore eyes. And because their team can't seem to do anything half-assed, they celebrate by fighting _aliens_ , of all things – all the while taking part in a super team-up that has the nerds on each sides practically dying of fangasm.

Ray being Ray, he even managed to get freaking captured by said aliens. Mick thinks maybe he should give more credit to the nerd army, because they managed to give Nate good coordinates to their teammates back. But then it's his turn to get captured, by the US military in the fifties—hey, they can't _all_ play with their new alien friends, can they?

If asked, he'd only grunt non-threateningly, but in the confines of his own mind, he had to admit that the team-up wasn't such a horrible experience. The most interesting bit though is the part where Ray is genuinely angry at the Flash for his 'selfish meddling with time', casually going and creating the very thing the Legends have been working day and night to put an end to—Mick would almost be proud, really. But Ray…Ray acted like someone told him the sun had stopped shining—that when a hero acted _un_ heroically, the end of the World might just be around the corner. Like the good guys aren't allowed to screw up, because if they do, then what's there left to fight for?

That look on his face was damn annoying, and that's the only reason Mick stopped by the lab to tell him, "We screw up on a regular basis, Haircut. Part of the deal. Red's no different."

Ray didn't jump in surprise – disappointing, really – but neither did he turn to him, focusing on his post-battle suit check-up. "Is it stupid of me, to expect more from Barry? Or Oliver?" he finally asked.

"Yep," Mick replied, figuring by then Ray very well knew that if he was looking to be coddled, he shouldn't be talking to him of all people. Ray's shoulders still sagged slightly, so Mick briefly rolled his eyes and sighed. "But don't stop. It's part of who you are."

Ray fortunately didn't say anything to that, but he did turn around, and when he did his smile spoke volumes anyway. "I was on an alien spaceship," he said instead, like it was news.

"You've been on one for the better part of a year," was the needless reminder.

"Okay, yes, but with _alien-looking_ aliens!" the idiot insisted, and maybe it ought to be to his credit, that he managed to keep some excitement about this even though he'd been held captive and…

…and _what_ , exactly?

"So what did the freaks do to you guys, exactly?" Mick asked, a rare instance of letting his curiosity get the better of him. "Probing and shit?" It was hard to keep the slightest _tiniest_ bit of worry out at that, because if unspeakable things had been done to him, Mick might be tempted to send a message back in time to avoid the capture altogether, consequences be damned.

"Mind probing, yeah—we're still not entirely clear what they were after for sure, maybe a reason why we were fighting them side by side with metahumans," Ray thought out loud. "They trapped us in a weird shared illusion but…it just felt wrong. We all knew it right away, which begs the question—could their techniques really be that easily seen though, based on the rest of their technology that we've observed?"

"You lost me."

"I'm just saying that they're obviously quite technologically advanced, much more than us yet—"

"That was a nice way of saying I don't care, Haircut," Mick interrupted him gruffly, almost grinning as the other's mouth snapped close.

Ray just smiled back at him, apparently saying that anything was okay as long as he was _nice_ about it.

Idiot.

"You missed a spot of alien guts on the suit," the criminal informed him before leaving summarily, letting out that smirk as he heard him go, "What—no I didn't, where? Mick! _Where_?"

And then of course shit hit the fan again, because that's just their lot in life.

Mick just wondered whether he should blame his newfound hallucinations of Snart on the food, the lab, the idiot, the weather, the time-stream, or himself. He didn't want to go crazy. He did want his friend back, but not like that. He didn't talk about it though—it's not real until you talk about it.

That's actually a safe rule for mostly anything, he figured long ago—it won't exist if you don't mention it. He's even pretty sure there's a scientist that said something like that at some point—that when you're looking at something, whatever it is that's going on is actually happening _because_ you're looking at it. Or maybe it was a philosopher.

…it might've been a fortune cookie, too.

So he won't talk about hallucinating his best friend. Just like he won't talk about enjoying this impromptu Christmas celebration the team puts together on the _Waverider_. Just like he won't talk about how awesome Ray's present is—or how secretly impressed he is that Haircut obviously wasn't too squeamish to catch the rat, despite its potential diseases (although he wouldn't be surprised if the poor guy had been injected with a cure-it-all Palmer-engineered concoction).

And definitely like he won't _ever_ talk about Ray's face lighting up when it's obvious the rat was a hit (he thinks he's gonna name him 'Axel', sounds badass for a rat).

He _will_ talk about having found Hunter again only to have him be a parody of a parody, and then get kidnapped. (He will _not_ use the name 'Legion of Doom' though, because _seriously_?) Not to forget that they find him again, all brainwashed to be evil, and at least it gets interesting, but then again Mick's busy trying to teach the finer points of being an American to Georgie Washington—who has time for brainwashed ex time-masters when there're battles to be had and foundations for a more lenient justice system to be laid?

All of that was nothing compared to Camelot though. Because of course Ray went all fanboy at the mere mention of it. And of course, as usual, that meant he stupidly risked his life like an idiot. And _of course_ , Mick couldn't let him die like that, because…well…because of that _thing_ he won't ever talk about. (Ever.)

Even when Ray stops by him, all smiles and sunshine and stars in his freaking eyes and opens his mouth—and it's all Mick can do to raise a finger threateningly and say, "You hug me, I'll make you wish you'd died during that battle."

How infuriating is it that Ray's smile merely widened?

"Thank you," he said anyway, needlessly proving yet again that he sorely lacked self-preservation instincts.

And Mick's pissed that someone visibly ratted him out—out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Jax hurrying past them and his eyes narrow knowingly: only he would be foolish enough to tell on him. There was payback to be had there.

But wouldn't you know it? He was served with a distraction when he happily supervised the un-brain-washing of one Rip Hunter. Wasn't that just swell?

Having him back was…not that groundbreaking, truthfully. He didn't really hate the guy anymore, he was more…indifferent to him. The team worked well together now, and they did just fine without him—actually, one of those other things he'll never talk about is Sara being a better captain than anyone else could ever be.

Their resident goofball looked entirely too pleased at having walked on the moon (seriously, it's just a big rock, what's the big deal?) but it's surprisingly difficult to avoid someone when you're all living on the same time-ship, so when he walked into the kitchen to see Ray regaling Amaya with another retelling of his lunar adventures, he sighed but didn't leave—he was hungry, and thirsty.

Amaya did get up to take her leave though, sending him a look that was oddly reminiscent of a 'tag, you're it' before heading to her quarters—or a 'your turn to humor the puppy', that sounded more fitting to the situation.

Ray didn't think anything of it, and it was unclear whether he caught a hint or something, but he didn't restart his story. "How's Axel doing?" he asked instead.

Mick wanted to ignore him, truly he did, but Haircut made that difficult when he insisted on looking at him like he invented gluten free food - and considering he'd never even heard of the stuff before meeting the idiot, that was saying a lot.

"I think out of all of us he's the one who's got it best," was his gruff reply. Grabbing a couple of beers, he wordlessly placed one in front of Ray, hoping he'd get the message— _no talking_.

Miraculously, he did.

And then he had to make it worse by looking at him like he invented gluten free food _specifically_ for him.

He definitely wasn't paid nearly enough for all of this. "Just keep'em coming, Gideon."

"Yes, Mr. Rory."

Small favors.

The peace and quiet doesn't last though, because when does it ever? The Legion of Stupidity and Evil (sounds only marginally less stupid than 'Doom', he'll admit to that) finally made their last move – and oh, wouldn't you know it? That last move included Evil Leonard Snart.

Because of course.

He's not his friend. Not yet. Not to the person he's become since leaving 2016 with the bunch of do-gooders he's come to think of as a team. _This_ Snart was never part of it. Mick won't pretend that he never hesitated, that he was never tempted to just go along and make sure his best friend—his _only_ friend, for the longest time—will be there with them in the end, but you can't have it all.

Plus then some future versions of themselves showed up to mess shit up even more, so he knew for a fact they were in deep. He'd seen other versions of Mick Rory before, but there still remained something weird about that that he never quite got used to—he supposed nobody ever did, maybe that was why it wasn't supposed to happen in the first place.

His future self hadn't been very loquacious, but what he did say packed quite the punch.

"Don't ever betray him."

He didn't need to ask who the 'him' was. And he got the feeling that said betrayal had also involved the rest of the team, but his own message to himself had been not to betray _him_ , so Mick figured that in the end, _his_ reaction had been the only one worth truly caring about. Enough to risk some serious shit by giving his past self that very simple instruction.

It made him wonder just what he'd done, really—well, he could guess it had something to do with Snart…maybe siding with him in the end? But he wouldn't do that—to himself at least, he can admit that he does…not entirely mind his team, and if they died he'd be pretty pissed. So if he'd risked that then…he figured that had been a sink or swim move, maybe a last-ditch effort to not see them all die for nothing.

It didn't matter anyway. It was in the past—or wait…the future? The past-future? Shit, he could feel a headache coming on…

But point made. Don't ever betray _Ray_.

Any remaining infinitesimal part of him that still wondered if he could truly ignore Snart went out the space-window when the bastard drove an icicle through the other Mick's heart—case in point: Leonard hadn't been able to kill him, even when he'd wanted to. Leonard had frozen and shattered one of his hands off to escape in time to stop the team from killing him when he'd been Chronos.

That Snart was not Leonard.

And that impostor thought he'd let him get away with pointing his cold gun at Ray? Think again.

Ray, who looked at him with obvious relief and wide eyes easily seen even through his visor. Ray, who thought he'd seen him die and had sounded devastated by it—and well, he _did_ see him die, just…the future version, so he figured that was okay.

Still… "You hug me, I'll kill you," he told him indisputably as he held a hand up to stop him.

Ray stopped in the motion, but wasn't deterred, only muttered a, "Okay…Later!" and Mick's glad he didn't see nor hear the amused snort he hadn't been able to completely censor at that.

Future Nate dies. Future Hunter, too. Future Jax was shot down first. Only Future Sara remains.

Their Sara saved the day though—and that right there is why he knew he respected her: she was so badass.

Snart gives him shit when he drops him back in the past, before Thawne recruited him. And yeah, it did sting a bit not leaving him any clues about any of it, but then again, when it comes down to it he's setting him on a path where they _won't_ try to kill each other, so he figures it's for the best.

They'll both be better men for it—he's come to actually believe that.

And speaking of which, don't the good guys get the girl at the end?

Ray had just taken off his suit when Mick walked into the lab, and turned back to him with that wide smile and soft look in his eyes, the one that promised so many troubles and headaches. The idiot then let out a shuddering breath and just kept smiling and Mick couldn't be as annoyed as he wanted to be because no one had ever reacted like he did to his hypothetical death.

In retrospect, he might see this as the moment he accepted he truly was fucked. Ray Palmer had won.

He was in front of him with a few swift strides, and felt strangely pleased when Ray didn't panic and just went along with him when he moved a hand to the back of his neck to pull him into a harsh kiss. It was rough and needy and everything Ray wasn't, but he pushed back all the same, and then soon enough it was slow and deep and Mick thought he was even more fucked than he ever anticipated.

"So…I hug you, you don't kill me anymore?" Ray quipped against his mouth and Mick just shut him up with another kiss—because seriously, the _nerve_ of that guy.

Of course, that only shut him up momentarily. "We saved the world, none of us died—well, not _us_ us, although I do suppose the other 'us' do count, what I felt when I saw you— _other_ you—die was real for sure, but _we're_ all still in one piece, and now _this_ …" Ray trailed off, shaking his head with something akin to…wonder.

Mick could only raise an eyebrow, waiting for him to finish that thought.

Ray's hand on his back tightened around a fistful of his shirt, and he leaned more into the hand that was still on his neck. "That's a pretty good way to end the day!"

What else could Mick do but snort. "Sure—pity no one'll ever know about the heroics, right?" he asked shrewdly, somewhat still wary of the other's hero complex—protecting someone else is hard enough without having to worry about protecting them from _themselves_.

Ray had the decency to acknowledge that weakness of his with a nod, but then he held his look with the utmost seriousness. "I've given it a lot of thought lately, and I don't care if no one ever hears about the things we've done, or even remembers my name—I know what's important. I have a team now, somewhere I belong – and I see it now: that's all that really matters. As long as I'm useful, I'm happy." At this he grinned bashfully before adding, "Plus—"

"Don't say it," Mick groused warningly.

"I've got _you_ , so really, what else is important?" Ray finished anyway, with the added audacity of looking very pleased with himself.

"You're an idiot, Haircut," was all he could say in return.

When Ray beams at him as though he's just said 'I love you, please marry me' instead of insulting him, Mick seriously hesitates between kissing him or strangling him—and figures that's what his life will be like from now on.

Spoiler alert: he ends up kissing him.


	2. Ray

**In Retrospect**

Or, "The Story from Ray's point of view"

Because I love these idiots too much, they need more love and there's nowhere near enough Atomwave on this site...

* * *

Ray Palmer knew he could never regret this even before Rip had finished pitching them the idea.

Fulfilling destiny? Being remembered as a _legend_? Heck, Rip basically wrote that speech for him!

…Except he actually _did_ , didn't he? Write it. To lure them. Trick them.

And Ray should've known, because that was the way it had always been – he was expendable. Just another random occurrence in a sea of nameless faces. If he died, history wouldn't be impacted all – and honestly, he should've been used to that one, because the World still thought him dead, and nothing had changed.

The one thing he'd never been good at was holding grudges though – except against his idiotic brother, but Sydney deserved that; Rip didn't, he'd been too broken already. Plus he'd admit he'd always been a sucker for a good sap story – curse you, Walt Disney!

Besides, it ended up giving him the one thing he'd always secretly truly desired: the chance to be a part of something, a team. Not an occasional outsider like he'd always felt with Team Arrow, not a friendly visiting ally as he was with Team Flash—no, with the Legends, he was part of the team, a founding member—he _was_ a Legend.

He thought it oddly fitting that they'd taken up to calling themselves that, too. Felt good, like payback – not that Ray really believed in payback, it was more about fairness and…justice and…yeah, okay, payback felt good sometimes.

And he was proud of standing side by side with the other Legends – well, the ones that remained.

Rip may have lied to them at first, but his heart had always been in the right place, even if he could've often gone about explaining things a lot better – but the man introduced Ray to a space-ship and time-travel, so his inner nerd has long since died and gone to nerd heaven, he'll forgive a lot in light of that – even stranding him in the Jurassic period.

Sara, aka the White Canary, was strong and funny and smart and confident and fearless and Ray thought that if he'd known her when he was a child, he'd have thought to himself: "I want to be just like her when I grow up" – and he completely owed up to that. Sara knew how to break and how to mend – most people only knew one or the other – and that eventually made her the best possible leader the Legends could've hoped for.

Jax and Professor Stein – aka Firestorm – were as fascinating as they were reassuring as they were amusing, and Ray knew very early in that he would never tire from interacting with either one of them – or _both_ of them, because when they merged it was always something to behold! (And the nerd in him had never recovered, truly.) It added something to the atmosphere to walk into the engine room and be greeted by a, "Ray! What up, bro?" (although when he'd tried to reciprocate, Jax had winced, shaken his head and clapped a hand on his shoulder apologetically, "Don't, Ray, you can't pull that off, man."). It was equally as reassuring at times in the lab to hear a, "Raymond, do be careful with the inverted capacitors, we don't want a repeat of last week's incident, do we?" (no one had treated him like a pupil in so long that even though he was annoyed by it, it also brought back good memories).

And then there was Mick Rory, aka Heatwave. A reformed criminal, thief, time-bounty-hunter. How could he even go about explaining Mick? He was a puzzle Ray had been working on since day one – that he suspected he'd still be working on years down the road, and he did love the prospect.

Mick would let him get beaten up without moving a muscle, but then refuse to escape without him. Mick would call him an idiot practically every time they spoke, but would narrow his eyes and reach for the heat gun when someone _else_ did. And Mick had taken his place at the Oculus. And then Snart (he'd have wanted to get to know him well enough to call him Leonard) had taken _his_ place.

Now Ray did have a tendency to shoulder the blame for nearly everything that passed his way, but he realized that just as he'd made his decision to stay, so had Mick made his decision, and so had Snart made _his_ decision. He _did_ think that Snart would've been more useful to the team than him, that Snart's savvy was worth more than his ATOM suit, but he understood that other people's decisions were not his fault.

So he made it a point not to skirt around the issue with Mick – to offer thanks, to offer condolences, but never pretend like the whole deal should be slapped with a 'Voldemort' status. (Although Snart felt more like a Snape—not that Ray had ever wondered which roles the Legends would have in such a setting…ahem.)

But Mick would roll his eyes, drink more beer, and say, "You don't owe me anything, Haircut."

And Ray can't _not_ say anything to that, because it's only part of the story. "Well…it's true but…you did save my life!" he insisted on pointing out each time, smiling brightly because there was just something flattering about a criminal, thief, time-bounty-hunter, reformed as he may be, choosing to save your life – at the cost of _his_ , no less.

It's a gift, one Ray clearly intended to never squander – Mick must _never_ truly regret having saved him. Plus Ray knew that the (reformed) thief wasn't as evil as he liked to pretend to be – he knew Mick cared about the team, had even gotten that admission out loud, and that was yet another thing to feel proud and happy about: that Mick had opened up to _him_ , of all people (he'd have thought he'd be closer to Sara, what with them being as strong and scary as each other).

"You read too much into things," Mick informed him as he reached for another beer – but Ray beat him to it and just handed him one, smiling in satisfaction as he'd anticipated right. "I just wanted to be the one to flip the Time Pigs the finger," he drawled on regardless as he looked at the bottle – and for a second Ray wondered if he'd ever looked at another _person_ with the same fondness he displayed in that moment.

"Tomato, to _ma_ to," Ray dismissed, chuckling as next time, he should go with potato. Mick cringed and Ray tilted his head to the side. "You don't like to be complimented, do you?"

He heard Mick's 'you're an idiot' as loud as his actual spoken reply, "You think people ever lined up for it much in my life?"

"They should've," Ray insisted, because clearly, once you got to know him, Mick was just as worthy of attention, trust and compliments as anyone else – as any other hero— _Legend_. And clearly, not enough people had made an effort to, because his hand never failed to twitch over his holster whenever he was complimented.

Ray made it a personal side-quest to help him with that.

"I'll never understand how you made it to adulthood," Mick shrugged as he turned back to his beer.

It made Ray stupidly proud to be told that—to have a puzzle tell him he didn't understand him. Even if he realized Mick most likely meant it as an insult, not a compliment. But that was the thing with Mick: if he didn't like what you said he'd twist your arm, if you truly spoke out of line he'd punch you, if you got yourself into trouble he'd let you get punched, he'd insult you at every other turn, but he would never _truly hurt you_. Or at the very least, that was how Ray felt. Mick wasn't tender, sweet, caring or any other word like that, but he wasn't going to let them down.

When the _Waverider_ picked Ray from the Jurassic, Mick was outside of his room when he stepped out all refreshed, and briefly looked him over before punching his shoulder, grunting in satisfaction when that didn't topple him over, and simply said, "Nice haircut, Haircut."

Ray had never known it was possible to like a nickname so much. Yes, he was very much aware of the fact that Mick hadn't meant it in a nice way at first, but it wasn't (entirely) the case anymore. Then again, Mick had nicknames for pretty much everyone, so Ray didn't feel all that special (and no, he wasn't _overly_ sorry about that).

But in retrospect, it was probably at that particular iteration of 'Haircut' that Ray realized Mick made his chest feel tight and warm – and his lips pull in a smile automatically, but that much was in his nature, he smiled at anyone he cared about.

It wasn't as scary or life-changing a revelation as one could surmise.

He honestly didn't think anything could come out of it, and he felt content being the one on the team Mick spent the most time with— _trusted_ the most, he hoped, although he knew that Mick was the type of person who likely didn't trust anyone, and that was how he was still alive.

He didn't like it when Mick nicknamed their newest teammate, Nate, 'Pretty' – although he realized that much as Snart had called him 'Pretty Boy', it _was_ actually derogatory, as if saying 'you're not much more than a pretty face' – and Ray felt horrible for thinking that, because he liked Nate, he finally had someone to have extreme nerd-out moments with!

Nate was someone who could understand and add to all his geeky references, who could have debates for hours on end without _needing_ to win, just enjoying the knowledge that they both knew what the other was talking about. Someone who called him _Dr._ Palmer, at least until he'd agreed to call him Ray, but who respected him as a scientist. Someone who…well. Had ended up with the powers Ray had been hoping for—the _purpose_ Ray had been hoping for.

It wasn't Nate's fault—of course not, never, Ray knew that, he'd never _blamed_ him for any of it.

Ray just…it…it wasn't meant to happen that way. So he moved on. Indulged in another geek-out session.

And _screwed up_.

There didn't exist a scale to accurately represent how much so. Because then he had to help destroy the ATOM suit, the very thing that made him who he was, worthy of being a Legend—before the ATOM suit, he'd been only Ray Palmer, CEO. Without the ATOM suit, Rip would have never even bothered to learn his name—he would have never met the other Legends. Without the ATOM suit, he brought nothing to the table.

And he knew it was a horrible, _horrible_ thing to think, but a part of him was glad for the zombie outbreak, for the chance to be _useful_ by working on a cure.

Yet Mick…Mick still had faith in him. He trusted him to _find_ said cure, and when that failed at first he'd knocked him out but _didn't_ eat his brains, so in zombie-Mick terms, that had to be _at least_ a statement of 'I don't hate you, might even like you a bit sometimes' and for a moment, Ray feels useful, and needed.

For a moment.

Then the epidemic was cured, the time anomaly was taken care of, and the doubts were back.

And Mick handed him the cold gun, saying he was looking for another partner.

In retrospect, that was most likely when he realized he was in love with Mick Rory.

It must've showed on his face, because Mick frowned and said, "Just don't even think about hugging me, or you'll see firsthand what happens when I fire my heat gun at it."

Ray moved from deep personal revelations to acute scientific curiosity (or 'geek-out', as it's known in certain circles) at these words. "Why? What happens when the guns collide?"

He'll never admit out loud that he liked the groan Mick made at this as he opened another beer bottle – leaving him with two at this point.

Soon enough the training started, which Ray originally thought wasn't really necessary, but the cold gun did require some getting used to. A lot of it, in fact. The cargo bay's floor was soon a resting ground for frozen beer bottles.

"No shame in calling it quits," Mick huffed from his spot on a nearby crate, beer pack protectively held to his chest.

Ray looked back at him, still as determined as when they'd begun, and said, "I won't let you down." Because he really, really, really, _really_ didn't want to do that ever.

Instead of taking it as the sort-of declaration it was maybe meant to be, Mick rolled his eyes, pointing his bottle at him. "Instead of caring what a criminal—"

" _Reformed_ ," Ray quickly added, because no one was allowed to take that from Mick, not even himself.

"—thinks about you, spend more time worrying about not letting _yourself_ down, Haircut," Mick finished all the same as though he'd never interrupted him.

Ray frowned, wondering how to explain to him just what he meant to him, but _without_ handing over his heart to be stomped (or more likely burned) in the process. "What does it say about my life that you're the least complicated person I've got around me right now?"

Mick didn't even need to think about the answer. "It says we're gonna need more beer."

And as he smiled at him, thinking to himself how perfect and _Mick_ that answer was, Ray turned around and aimed the gun back at the beer bottles, managing only marginally better, but feeling lifted up anyway.

That good mood continued throughout their next mission, with his personal highlight being the theft of a handful of Presidential Jelly Beans. Mick looked at him as though he couldn't understand his joy at doing something so _easy_ , but Ray'd always been…a model citizen—his friends still made fun of him on the rare occasions he _jaywalked_ (although really jaywalking should be taken seriously, as it could cause irreparable damage to both victim and driver, and—getting off track). Stealing something, furthermore _in the White House_ , which he infiltrated _with a gun_ , sent him back to childish excitement.

Doing it _with Mick_ …well, it made it _special_.

Of course following that, nothing went according to plan, because when did it ever?

They almost died, too, because when did they not? And Ray almost gave up, because with the ATOM suit, he'd have figured that bomb out in _seconds_ , would have disarmed it even faster, but without it he was just…

"You're Ray Palmer, you can science your way out of anything," Mick told him with certainty as he held his look.

And Ray's eyes widened, because he'd tried to be Snart for him, thinking that was what he'd want, but clearly it wasn't. Mick was okay with _him_ —with Ray Palmer. "I'm Ray Palmer. I can science my way out of anything…" he repeated back, as though the words and the name were foreign to him. But it worked. More than any other pep talk he'd ever been given, it worked. Bomb diffused. They'd live to die another day.

Yet Ray hated that even though he was supposed to be an inventor, what he did most these days was take things apart. As they were walking to the extraction point, he frowned as he looked at the parts of the cold gun he could salvage, letting out a sigh. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry means we're alive," Mick replied pragmatically. And Ray must've been too honest in the way he looked at him, because he added, "You hug me, I'll roast you," as he picked up his pace.

Ray's smile only grew wider as he thanked him quietly all the same.

As soon as they were back onboard, he locked himself up in the lab, determined to rebuild the cold gun. Despite Mick's dismissal, he knew that he cared about the weapon – it was after all a reminder of his best friend. And Ray didn't want to go down in Mick Rory history as the man who destroyed the reminder of Mick's best friend. He may not have been Cisco, but they thought alike at times, and he'd observed the gun enough that he managed to reconstruct it, although it left him drained and exhausted, falling asleep with his head pillowed on his folded arms as he so often had while working on the ATOM suit.

The familiar telltale sound of the cold gun in action woke him up with a dignified, "Whu—what? I wasn't sleeping!" in time to see Mick look in somewhat satisfaction at what he'd just tested the gun on (oh no, was that the oscillator Jax had been working on? Oops…). "I fixed it," he said proudly—and so not fishing for a compliment, really.

"I noticed," Mick said while his eyes said 'you're an idiot' again before he sighed. "Food. Rest. Now," he said as he lobbed the gun back at him.

Ray just about deftly caught it, surprising even himself, but then again he was more focused on the almost caring look in the other's eyes—well, calling it 'caring' might've been going too far; it just…wasn't indifferent. "Mick," he called him back, "does this mean we're still partners?" he asked him hopefully, bracing himself for any reply but needing to know.

Mick didn't turn around and grunted, but not his 'I'm going to maim you alive grunt', so Ray felt that vice get out of his chest and smiled happily. "You hug me, I'll break your arms."

And as Ray moved his arms behind his back to keep them safe, a part of him thought that it would be a fair price to pay to give in at least once.

Fate must have been trying to apologize for everything that had happened to him before, because soon after, not only did they go back to the West, but they got their hands on dwarf-star alloy. Enough to remake his suit all over—more than once, more than twice, more than thrice!—and even work on side-projects, so he quite happily made his way to Mick's quarters shortly after they got back into the time-stream.

"I think I can use the dwarf-star to make the heat gun more powerful for short blasts!" he said grandly from the door.

"Don't you have a suit to build?" Mick asked him after barely a beat – and Ray's smile didn't diminish, because that wasn't a dismissal, or a 'mind your own business' as someone who's not familiar with Mick Rory might think; Mick just asked this because he knew how much getting his suit back meant to Ray.

It would really take a stronger man than him not to fall in love again at that.

Mick sighed once more, shaking his head. "I'm going to regret asking, aren't I?"

"It's just a way of thanking you—that I figure you won't totally hate," Ray quickly replied, not wanting to come across as _too_ eager – although he feared that ship had sailed long ago. "It's…the only thing I could think of that you wouldn't totally hate, actually. Well I mean I did think about replicating some more booze, or getting those doughnuts you seem to love, but it would be _Gideon_ doing the actual work, not me, so how is that a fitting 'thank you'? And then I figured—"

"Okay," Mick said loudly, and Ray could've kissed him for putting an end to the rambling.

Not that he thought about kissing him. Much.

Mick was averse to the slightest touch, he doubted he'd be much for intimacy—much less with a man, in all likelihood. So Ray preferred not to think about it, because the problem with these kinds of thoughts was that you ended up wanting to act on them, compare them to reality, and that was usually the point where everything went down the drain.

Ray didn't want his partnership with Mick to go down the drain.

Snapping himself out of that digression, he repeated his affirmation, almost surprised he'd said 'yes' that easily.

"I don't totally hate the idea," Mick grudgingly conceded before taking a few steps towards him and looming more menacingly. "But I'll be looking over your shoulder the whole time, and if you so much as nick a wire—"

"You'll do something very painful and possibly permanent to me?" Ray couldn't help but supply, not even fearing for his life because somehow along the way he'd come to view Mick's threats as _endearments_.

"You have a serious problem, Haircut," Mick helpfully informed him, and really, he was right on so many levels with that one.

True to his threat, Mick became a presence at his back while he worked on the heat gun, and Ray…Ray loved every second of it. True, Mick didn't participate in the conversation, as Ray had a habit of talking excitedly whenever he was working on something that captivated him, but neither did he tell him to shut up, and he even handed him a couple of tools and a drink once. He purposefully didn't work as quickly as he could to keep these moments lasting, but then again he was also excited to see the results so when they tested it, he felt as he had at science fairs as a child.

"I've had worse," Mick said finally, but Ray knew that if he didn't like the result, the gun would be aimed at _him_ now. Mick must've picked on his nervousness, because he asked, "What now?"

Ray looked between him and the gun, wondering how not to be too forward and then throwing that out of the window, because subtlety had never ever been a strong _suit_ of his (and please note the pun, he'd been wanting to use that one for some time now). "Are we…still partners?" And before he can stop himself, the rambling starts again. "I mean…if all goes well, I'll soon be done rebuilding my suit, and I realize that the whole 'partners' deal was mostly linked to the cold gun, because it's not like you'd let just anyone use it, but I think we work well together, and—"

"Why is it so important to you to get someone else's validation? Is that the only way you can feel good about yourself?" Mick asked him shrewdly.

Ray felt the breath kicked out of him by the on-point question, and closed his mouth as he thought of how to reply to it. Was it? That important to him? Thinking back on it…when was the last time he'd done something— _created_ something—just for himself? Not as a tool to help others, not as a way to make them proud, not as a mean to make his name known, but just…for _himself_? Just because he _wanted to_?

But then he realized: he _wanted_ to help. If enhancing the heat gun made Mick happy(-ish) and in turn made Mick think that Ray was good to have around, then of course it would make Ray happy, so he _was_ helping himself. "Not 'someone else's'—yours," he replied confidently.

"Sounds even worse," Mick noted, but not cruelly.

"You're always honest—bluntly, _painfully_ so, but you're someone I know I can take at face value," Ray insisted, and that was about the closest he could get without being _too_ honest.

Apparently, it was the right thing to say, because Mick once more sighed as he rested his gun on his shoulder and said, "Look, a gun is just that—a gun. A tool. Partnerships aren't really based on tools, are they?"

Ray's fingers are practically itching to put that arm-breaking threat to the test. "I hug you, you'll hurt me?" he asked with a happy smile.

"Damn right," Mick confirmed, but Ray's sure he bit back a chuckle on that one and beat a hasty retreat to hide it, so it still feels like a victory.

Just because the heat gun's upgrades were finished didn't mean Mick was done watching him work, and Ray felt so happy he could've sung—but he didn't, because hello? _Weird_! Or maybe just in his head. Like before, Mick didn't actually talk beyond grunts and commands for more beer from the replicator, but he was _there_ , and it was all that counted. Ray had been used to brainstorming alone, working in the lab alone, fighting alone, just generally _being_ _alone_ , and that simple presence was all he needed.

When the suit was ready Ray almost kissed it, but instead he turned back to Mick with a triumphant smile.

"Looks as stupid as it did before," Mick said solemnly around a mouthful of bagel. "Good job."

From the outside it looked like an insult, but Ray knew better, so he grinned even wider and turned back to the suit, feeling the same jitters and excitement he did the first time he prepared to try it on.

It would have to wait though, because Jax dropped by to say dinner was ready, and, "Ray, that suit is a sight for sore eyes!" he said truthfully.

"Thanks Jax!" Ray replied brightly. Jax took it upon himself to tell everyone in the galley the ATOM suit 2.0 was ready, and it felt good to hear them cheer on him like that. Looking at Nate, he then remembered the _other_ side-project he'd wanted to work on, and with a little extra time and tweaking on his hands, he created a protective combat suit for him – making just a couple of necessary adjustments from his drawing.

Sara interrupted their major bro-and-geeking-out session minutes after he showed it to Nate, but in her defense, she'd let them know they were going back to 2017 to team up with Oliver and Barry—and did she mention _aliens_?!

A team-up between Team Arrow, Team Flash and the Legends…plus an all-powerful _alien_ from an alternate Earth—teaming up to fight _evil_ aliens.

The nerds in each team were dying of glee inside at the implications.

Luckily, he even managed to find a moment with Cisco to show him the new suit and agreed to discuss upgrades – plus, he wanted to ask him about the heat and cold guns, to really know all there was to know about them.

Then there was Barry…and telling him about Snart's sacrifice, and finding out about the speedster's meddling with time. And Ray couldn't believe it—well, he _did_ believe it, who would joke about something like that, plus Cisco obviously wasn't talking to him, but he couldn't believe he'd _let himself_ do it. True, he may not have known the Flash all that well, but he…expected better from him.

He got captured by the aliens then however—well, first brainwashed, _then_ captured, to be precise. Stuck in an illusion that felt wrong from the start, fighting his way out to end up on an alien space-ship—very cool, although he had little time to dwell on the awesomeness of it as Digg was hurt and there was that ever-present death-threat hanging over their heads.

There was a massive team-up battle in the end, though, because what else, right? It's for moments like these that they signed up! Then there was a commendation ceremony conducted by the new President. Then there were celebratory drinks, and major nerd-sessions with Cisco. They were almost sad it was over, really. But then it was everyone back to their home base, and to the Legends, that meant the time-stream.

And more time to think about what just happened, and for it to come crashing down with brutal exhaustion.

"We screw up on a regular basis, Haircut. Part of the deal. Red's no different," Mick's voice suddenly told him from the door to the lab, where he was working on those upgrades for his suit.

For a second he toyed with the idea of pretending to be oblivious, but really only a second, because he knew Mick reaching out like this was a maybe once-in-a-lifetime deal and he didn't want to jinx it.

He realized that nobody was perfect, that everyone screwed up at some point. But screw-ups were usually _accidental_ – theirs certainly were. But Barry? Barry had _willingly_ screwed up – done something he _knew_ he wasn't supposed to, something he _knew_ would have consequences that he had no way of anticipating or preventing—and he didn't care, he'd done it anyway. "Is it stupid of me, to expect more from Barry? Or Oliver?"

"Yep," Mick confirmed, sitting down in his usual spot and propping his boots on the table, far enough not to bother him as he worked. "But don't stop. It's part of who you are."

Ray thought to himself at this that one of these days, he should really learn to stop falling in love with him over again every time he said something nice. "I was on an alien spaceship!" he said instead, steering the conversation to safer ground.

"You've been on one for the better part of a year," Mick reminded him, clearly unimpressed.

"Okay, yes, but with _alien-looking_ aliens!" Ray insisted, although he had to admit he was slightly disappointed that they'd looked like something you'd see in 1960's comic books—although wait a moment…maybe those comics had actually been inspired by the _real deal_? Oh the world of possibilities this opened…

"So what did the freaks do to you guys, exactly?" Mick wondered with a frown. "Probing and shit?"

"Mind probing, yeah—we're still not entirely clear what they were after for sure, maybe a reason why we were fighting them side by side with metahumans…They trapped us in a weird shared illusion but…it just felt wrong," Ray recounted, crossing his arms over his chest. "We all knew it right away, which begs the question—could their techniques really be that easily seen through, based on the rest of their technology that we've observed?"

"You lost me," Mick stopped him as he opened a beer.

Ray snapped out of his musings, better explaining himself. "I'm just saying that they're obviously quite technologically advanced, much more than us yet—"

"That was a nice way of saying I don't care Haircut," Mick helpfully supplied, with a small grin that made Ray stop in his tracks lest he made (even more of) an idiot of himself. The other got up to leave at that, pointing a finger in the ATOM's suit's general direction. "You missed a spot of alien gut on the suit."

Ray could only frown in horror as his head snapped back to his creation and he called back, "What—no I didn't, where? Mick! _Where_?" But Mick was gone and Ray was left to battle imaginary alien guts and very not imaginary feelings of fondness.

Then the Legends got back into their usual groove. Nate stole his spot as Elliott Ness in the twenties, then Ray momentarily lost his suit again when they scared George Lucas out of making movies, they found Rip only to lose him to the Legion of Doom (Sara may complain all she likes, Nate picked up a catchy name for them!). They saved the United States of America, although brainwashed Rip made it seriously difficult, and Ray would live out his life very happily if he was never stuck in shrunk form ever again. He felt they could all use the downtime, but when he pitched the idea of a Christmas dinner to Sara, he was half-surprised to see her onboard so quickly.

That everyone – including Mick – played along was further proof of how tired they were, but he truly felt like part of something, and he thought that they probably felt the same.

He even gave Mick the infamous rat he'd managed to capture – he wasn't so scary, once he wasn't about three times your size anymore.

All of that was nothing compared to Camelot though. Camelot, knights, round tables, enchanters—the dreams of his childhood! Before science had sucked him in, his nerdiness had been all about these old tales; having the opportunity to visit them, _participate_ in them…how could he ever deny himself? For once, he resolved to do something for himself, even if he knew he wasn't helping the team—wasn't really helping anyone but himself, he was aware, and even then, he was risking his life more than anything.

Selfishness felt oddly pleasing, he'd admit to that.

Deep down inside, he believed that the team wouldn't turn their backs on him, so he was pleased, surprised, but not downright shocked when they showed up too. The shock came later, when Jax told him that Mick went against Sara because he refused to leave him behind.

"You hug me, I'll make you wish you'd died during that battle," Mick warned him gruffly when he stopped by him in the kitchen.

"Thank you," Ray replied anyway, thinking to himself that if this went on, one of these days he'd stop holding back on account of the threats and see what would happen.

They had more pressing matters to deal with however, such as Rip's de-brainwashing. Having him back was…well, it was good, undeniably, it was amazing – but also a bit underwhelming…like somehow he didn't fit with their team anymore—which was a strange thing to say, because there would have never _been_ a team in the first place if it hadn't been for Rip Hunter.

But…under Rip, they'd been a bunch of people fighting the same enemy.

Under Sara…they were a team fighting _together_.

Ray almost felt guilty for feeling like that.

Then again…Rip did get him to walk on the moon. The _moon_. Of course, then he was also stranded on said moon with Eobard Thawne of all people. He definitely hated that he respected the man's scientific knowledge. But despite what a lot of people seemed to think, Ray's survival instincts worked just fine, so he bit the bullet and teamed up with Thawne to get back home. Letting him go afterwards, that had been survival at work, too. Ray was alone in the brig when he confronted him; if he'd missed, Thawne would've killed him—opting not to shoot, that had saved his life. He wasn't under any delusions that it would buy him a pass for the next time they'd meet, but at least there would _be_ a next time.

Plus, again— _moon_.

The worst was yet to come though. Oh there was some very good first, such as meeting Tolkien. But then it went from bad to worse. The Legion seemed always one step ahead, and they got a new recruit in the shape of one Leonard Snart, from a few years before they'd met.

Ray couldn't help but be scared. Scared that Mick would choose his best friend over them (over _him_ ), that they couldn't make him feel like he belonged with the team (that Ray wasn't good enough). He even considered telling him how he felt, for a moment, but then the fear was back and he figured that could just as well backfire and become the reason Mick would leave, so he kept quiet.

It wasn't so long after that that they were introduced to future versions of themselves. Well, not all of them—it really didn't escape his notice that he wasn't among the group, and it created a sickening twisting feeling in his stomach. Future Mick seemed to notice, but didn't say anything – Ray purposefully didn't look at him anyway, or even his Mick, because there was such a thing as too many Micks.

Except he couldn't look away anymore when he saw Snart drive an icicle through Mick's heart—and it didn't matter _which_ Mick this was, Ray had seen someone he loved die in front of him before and he _never_ wanted a repeat of the experience, and damn it he didn't deserve that, and he should've said _something_ , he should've _told him_ —

A bright flame flashed past him and Snart was sent tumbling to the ground, and Ray looked up to see Mick— _his_ Mick, he knew, somehow he _knew_ —standing there with a frown and his heat gun still trained on his best friend. The best friend he'd just shot down to protect Ray.

"You're alive!" Ray exclaimed, scrambling to his feet and reaching for him.

A hand stopped him. "You hug me, I'll kill you," Mick said indisputably as he kept going.

Ray wasn't deterred. "Okay, later," he conceded – it was just a respite, because he _needed_ to feel that he was really alive, sometimes trusting your eyes just wasn't enough anymore.

He was hard pressed to really believe it, but they did come out on top, eventually and against all odds. Sara saved them.

Thawne's non-existence caught up with him, and they resolved to place Merlyn, Dhark and Snart back where—and when—they belonged.

They were all incredibly proud of their Captain when Sara dropped off Dhark, even knowing full well that it would eventually cost her sister her life. But they'd seen the disastrous consequences messing with time could have.

Ray handled Merlyn, with his suit (no such thing as 'too safe'), and as soon as he got back, the _Waverider_ made the stop to drop off Snart – their last captive – and as Mick walked down with him, Ray retreated to the lab, but it was only to better monitor the cameras to make sure Mick was coming _back_ , eventually. He was just trying to be a bit more discreet about it than staying in the hangar would've been.

He felt like he could breathe again when he saw Mick walking back on the _Waverider_ through the camera stream.

He then busied himself to remove his suit, and was barely done when Mick walked in. Turning back to him, he just smiled, not really sure what to say as he knew he wouldn't appreciate being asked if he was 'okay'. It then occurred to him that it was the first time he'd truly looked at him since he'd thought he'd seen him die, and he couldn't help but let out a breath in relief at that – because he was really _there_ , wasn't he?

Without saying a word and in his brusque way, Mick was in front of him barely a moment later, with a gloved hand reaching for the back of his neck to pull him into a kiss and although it was all but gentle, Ray thought to himself that it was a billion times better than a hug. Mick was pressing him against him in an almost bruising way, but that forceful possession was exactly how Ray had imagined he would kiss, so he just kissed back, grabbing a handful of his shirt to keep him close with one hand and letting the other settle on his back. Then the kiss shifted and Ray moaned at how _gentle_ it was—and how badly it left him wanting _so much more_.

"So…I hug you, you don't kill me anymore?" he couldn't help but ask, barely pulling back and just grinning as Mick kissed him quiet.

But Ray was feeling _giddy_ , and there were things he wanted to say, so he took that chance again. "We saved the world, none of us died—well, not _us_ us, although I suppose the other 'us' do count, what I felt when I saw you— _other_ you—die was real for sure, but _we're_ all still in one piece, and now _this_ …" He had to trail off at his, eyes trailing back down to Mick's lips happily.

He could _hear_ the 'make your point already' in the raised eyebrow he was treated to.

"That's a pretty good way to end the day!" Ray said simply as he leaned into the hand that was still on his neck, absently looking forward to Mick doing that again but with his gloves off in the near future.

Mick snorted—the 'you drive me crazy but I don't hate you' snort—and then looked at him pointedly. "Sure—pity no one'll ever know about the heroics, right?"

Ray knew he was testing him, asking him, in his own way, if he'll need to fight his hero complex. "I've given it a lot of thought lately, and I don't care if no one ever hears about the things we've done, or even remembers my name—I know what's important." And he did, he truly did; after all this time, he finally realized it. "I have a team now, somewhere I belong—and I see it now: that's all that really matters. As long as I'm useful, I'm happy. Plus—"

Mick cut him off with a warning frown at this, "Don't."

Ray absolutely did not care about the threat – or believe in it, for that matter. "I've got _you_ , so really, what else is important?" he finished smartly, putting on his best smile.

Mick stared at him for a moment, probably only a couple of seconds that felt so much longer, and slightly shook his head. "You're an idiot, Haircut."

To Ray, he might've just as well have said something along the lines of 'I don't hate you, so let's stay partners for a while' and it felt like the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him.

Then Mick kissed him again and Ray really, really, really, _really_ hoped that Time would let them enjoy this for a moment longer before they had to go back out and fix it.

In retrospect, that was probably when he'd jinxed their chances of having some real downtime, so that was when he learned to just stop thinking in these moments.

Mick approved, for once.


End file.
